The Devil Actually Prefers Versace
by grthgdrh
Summary: "I just spent a fortune on these hideous shoes because it was you that recommended them but now my feet are literally bleeding and could you give me a ride to the hospital because I'm pretty sure I broke something" AU


Sansa felt like the brunette's brilliant smile was a reward for showing up in the first place. "So, have you thought about it? Do you want to give these darlings a new home?"

The redhead stared at the shoes in question and privately thought that if she held out her hand towards them, the material would grow teeth specifically to bite her. Even as she relived the sensation of her ankle being squished and her toes reduced to a painful mush as she tried the designer product on, her vocal cords disobeyed her rational urge to object as they answered, "I'd love to buy them."

For less than two minutes, any doubts concerning her decision flew out of the window as Margaery linked her arm through Sansa's, chatting animatedly and laughing softly as she led her to the cash register. She threw back her head to laugh as she slid the carton with the shoes straight from hell across the counter to their new owner and the redhead was happy with her purchase for as long as it took Margaery to walk her out of the store and offer her a friendly wave before entering the building once more with an unconscious grace to her very walk.

The feeling didn't last all that long.

* * *

"You paid _how much?_ "

Sansa was left to glare as her sister broke out in hysterics.

"It's not really a funny situation!" She exclaimed, desperation bleeding through her tone.

"Ya-huh!" Arya laughed, raising an eyebrow at her sister. "Stop sulking, Sansa. Okay, let's ditch the melodrama and look at this objectively: Do the shoes look good?"

"Not in a million years."

"At least halfway decent?"

"Nope."

The younger sibling rolled her eyes. "Alright, we can still work with this. Are the shoes comfortable?"

The grimace on the redhead's face told epic legends of blood, pain and barely contained tears.

"Then why on earth would you spend so much, or anything at all on them in the first place?"

Sansa combed her fingers through her hair and resolutely kept her gaze on the table. "Margaery was so _nice_ about it. You should have seen her, I just couldn't not buy _anything_ if I have taken up at least two hours of her time with her escorting me around the whole store thirteen times over trying on every shoe there was."

Arya snorted. "Margaery, is it? Also, knowing you you were in there for all of ten minutes and let yourself be guilt-tripped."

"The shop assistant." She blushed.

Her sister's voice was thickly laced with contempt. "You _do_ know that she does this sort of thing for a living and actually _gets_ money from that?"

The older woman buried her face in her arms and grunted something unintelligible.

Arya sighed. "You're hopeless."

* * *

 _This is_ _damn_ perfect _. All that's missing to make this a scene straight out of some cheap 90s sitcom is the audience laughing in the background._

It was safe to say that going grocery shopping in her new pair of shoes had been a terrible idea.

Sansa winced. The supermarket was only about half a mile away from her apartment, but apparently even that had been too much for her feet to handle, as was made evident by her collapse on the asphalt. Her left knee was bleeding and she felt as if her heels were on fire even as she felt the wetness of her tights which could only mean an open wound and blisters. So much for the sheer brilliance of an idea to wear the fashion monstrosities for the first and last time for the sake of deluding herself that the purchase had not been pointless.

To drive home the point of just how pathetic her situation was, she had left her phone at home, because who could possibly need to contact anyone in need when out to buy some orange juice and a loaf of bread?

"Hey there, are you okay?"

The redhead looked up, startled.

"Margaery?"

The very same grinned. "Forgotten me so quickly, hm? What happened that you are crouching on the ground like that?"

She had forgotten that _Highgarden_ , the Tyrells' luxurious shoe shop, was right around the corner.

"I think I might have broken something." She confided, but bit down on her lower lip to keep from spilling the truth about the reasoning behind the incident.

The brunette firmly put her arm around Sansa's shoulders to help her stand up straight again. "Yikes. That bad, huh? Do you need a lift?"

Sansa shrugged, but even in her state of denial she could recognize that there was no way she was going to make the way to any specific location on her own without having to resolve to crawling on her belly as if she was a soldier on the battlefield with the designer shoes as chains holding her down, restraining her, causing relentless pain.

"If it's not a bother." She lowered her head.

Margaery scoffed. "Please, don't make a huge deal out of it. It would be really shitty of me not to drive you to the hospital right now."

She helped Sansa into the front seat of her red Cabrio and paused. "Hey, how about we go grab something to eat after all this is over and done with? I'm starving. My treat, you've had enough drama for one day."

When she laughed, the brunette was puzzled if amused. "Thanks, I'd love to."

Margaery got into the driver's seat and turned her head, a smirk gracing her face. "Is pizza good?"

Sansa rolled her eyes as if to say _Why does this even merit a question?_ "Pizza is good."

It all ended with a cast, crutches, a prescription for painkillers and a renewed promise sealed with a phone number.

* * *

"Let me get this straight: You are basically bankrupt, your ankle is sprained and the person responsible for this is taking you out for pizza tonight?"

"It's not a date." Sansa grumbled into her coffee, her single braid thrown over her shoulder floating dangerously close above the hot liquid's surface.

Shae raised an eyebrow. "Never said it was. What, did you hope an injury would get you laid?"

She managed to move out of the way gracefully before the nearest phone book could be thrown in her general direction.

"You're making it sound like it is, that's what makes me so twitchy. Stop trying to get a rise out of me, I could really use one person that is not going to rag on me about it all for the rest of the month. Arya will never let me hear the end of this, you'll see."

Her friend chuckled. "Why should she? Seriously, you were an idiot. At least admit it to yourself, if not to me."

Sansa sipped her coffee with all the grace of a Queen. "No, thank you."

* * *

 _"_ I'm so sorry about all the fuss."

Sansa looked up, startled. For a brief moment, she thought Margaery had seen through her and recognized the regret she felt about the Shoes From Hell™.

"What?"

The brunette smirked. "Are you sure you didn't take so many painkillers that you could qualify as "on drugs" right now? Sorry for ordering a pizza that had olives on it, because you are allergic to that and now you have to wait about half an hour for your pizza of choice while I sit here, digging in already with you watching on. That really wasn't the plan when I asked you to dinner."

The redhead shrugged. "I don't mind."

She wasn't lying - waiting gave her all the time she needed and wanted to regard the saleswoman across her and retrace her steps in amazement. The entire situation - right down to the background music (Mozart, she thought) and scented candles - was positively ludicrous.

It had to be said, however, that Margaery looked absolutely gorgeous in a cocktail dress. Next to the sight of deep green silk, a cascading waterfall of chocolate curls and an undeniably eye-catching face Sansa felt both underdressed and uneasy. Her beige jumpsuit and painted fingernails had seemed overly formal for pizza of all dishes back at home, but now she was glad that she had discarded a pair of well-worn jeans and white chemise in favor of rushing to answer Margaery at her door after finishing off her make-up with lipgloss. She had gone easy on her feet, adorning the one not wrapped up in plaster with a plain black ballerina shoe.

(A voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Shae hissed, _Even back when you were dating Joffrey you didn't worry this much about your appearance for what is supposed to be a casual get-together_ , but it went ignored)

The restaurant had overwhelmed the redhead at first, but in time she had managed to relax and truthfully enjoy the champagne served to her (her companion seemed to be a treasured customer, for all the waiters that passed their table knew her name).

Once Sansa was presented with her olive-less pizza, which tasted delicious, Margaery apologized profusely for a second time before the redhead interrupted her with a laugh.

"I forgive you. Now let's appreciate the fine cuisine this place has to offer, alright?"

By the time she was halfway done with her pizza, she had discovered that Margaery harbored dreams of becoming a journalist for Vogue, which was why she was happy that her part-time job had at least some connection to fashion. In turn, the redhead found herself launching into a retelling of a time when her half brother had gone off to the best college of the country to study law only to disappear overnight on what their family referred to as a "cross-country road trip of indefinite length", while rumor had it that the campus wild child Ygritte had not been seen since, either. The saleswoman laughed at Sansa's lavish description of her mother's initial reaction while Theon accepted the money the other Stark siblings owed him for the bet about "when that bastard finally grows a pair and has some fun once in his life" with a smug expression on his face. The others had not thought that a similar thing would happen until Jon was done with his studies, driven by duty and responsibility as he was.

"What do you want for dessert? I hear the lemon cakes are supposed to be exquisite." The brunette grinned and somehow the sudden change of topic did fairly little to nothing to disrupt the flow of storytelling.

Sansa sipped her champagne, reveling in the tingling sensation that the bubbles invoked on her tongue. "How could I refuse?"

Taking her first bite of the sweet course, she listened as Margaery revealed that although her family was considered to be a major influence in the fashion industry, she would be seen as nothing more than a spoiled, privileged brat due to said circumstance if she were to apply for her dream job tomorrow.

Sansa could relate, since the surname _Stark_ would always be known to any potential employer, if not always for the right reasons, although it was true that the Lannister Scandal had been cleared up a few months ago, giving her family the room to breathe that it needed.

The brunette winked. "What a pair we make."

Uncertain as how to proceed, the other woman quickly brought the fork to her mouth and nibbled at her lemon cake to the sound of Margaery's good-humored chuckle.

By the time the bill arrived on a silver platter, the single bottle of champagne that had been opened at the beginning of the evening was empty.

Out of deep-rooted courtesy, Sansa's hand reached towards the scrap of paper out of its own accords, only Margaery swiped it under her nose before she had the opportunity to grasp it.

"We've settled this, sweetie. You don't have to pay a cent."

Despite her efforts, the saleswoman had not been able to prevent her from deciphering the writing on the bill.

"But I honestly didn't know that the champagne cost two hundred dollars a bottle!" Sansa blurted.

The brunette smiled. "You've seen my workplace. Let's leave it at 'Versace is my favorite brand', okay? I am not going to be broke once this is over."

The red-haired woman bit down on her bottom lip at the sight of Margaery handing the waiter the due money plus a generous tip.

Only once outside did Sansa feel like she could breathe properly again.

The other woman found yet another cause to apologize to her when she glanced at the clock. "Sansa, I swear I am not doing this on purpose, but I can't drive you home. I forgot completely, but I promised Loras on everything holy that I would drop by before the night was over for an emergency meeting. Apparently there has been a theft and-" She paused, combed through her hair in exasperation and sighed.

Sansa put a hand on her arm in the hope of reassuring her. "Go ahead, I'll hail a cab and be fine. I had a great time, thank you for the day as a whole."

Before she had time to blink, Margaery had enveloped her in a hug that she gladly reciprocated.

She blew her a kiss from the driver's seat and with a final wave, she was gone.

* * *

 _Knock, knock._

Sansa frowned as her eyes fell upon the face of the nearest clock. It was nearly midnight. Who would call on her that late?

Still, she skipped down from the couch, turned off the television and jogged to the door, opening it wide.

"Margaery?"

The brunette shrugged and raised her arms, palms facing the redhead as if in surrender before she grasped the railing of the stairs leading up to the the flat to steady herself. "I plead for a truce."

Sansa laughed. "What? But I've already forgiven you, you know that."

She smirked, pointing at her feet. "That's not what I mean. I hate it not to be even with people as a principle and I came here to fix that."

The red-haired woman gasped. "But- You- And I-"

She shook her head in disbelief, but no matter how often she blinked, it was undeniable that the shoes adorning the saleswoman's feet were identical to the ones that had gotten Sansa into the hospital earlier that day. "Come on in, let's get these things off you."

As she gestured helplessly towards the open door, the shop assistant grinned at her and walked straight into her living room, all the while supporting her weight with both hands on the walls to keep her from falling flat on her face.

"I actually got you to wear these torture devices without paying you for it?" Margaery exclaimed as she threw herself on the couch, minus her usual grace. She blew a few rogue strands of hair out of her eyes as she caught her breath from the physical exertion.

Sansa laughed. "The opposite."

"I should quit my job. I'm the female Lucifer for stealing from you like that. It's worse than taking your soul. Just call me Lucy and name the sum you want as compensation for personal suffering already." She groaned.

"No!" Sansa cried out, alarmed at the prospect. "Don't quit my job because of such a stupid thing. Besides," She sighed. "It's not like I had no free will in the matter at all, you know." She tried to wink at the brunette, but failed miserably. Resigned, she went to join her on the couch.

Margaery smirked. "Didn't say I was actually serious, did I?"

The red-haired girl turned her head to face her. "You wouldn't really quit, would you?"

Her teeth glinted in the faint candlelight. "Nah. Pay's too good, would not find a better place if I wanted to. I'm lazy like that."

Sansa nodded. "I understand, though. One last thing: Did you actually buy this pair of shoes solely to prove a point and make me feel like less of an idiot?"

The brunette chuckled. "Can't say I did, sorry. I borrowed them. My brother Loras has a few sweet connections to the fashion world through Renly Baratheon. I like to think it's the thought that counts. It's a relief for my wallet, too."

The red-haired woman rolled her eyes. "Thank you so much for sharing that piece of wisdom _after_ I have made my purchase and sprained my ankle from walking to the grocery store two blocks from my apartment."

Margaery had stopped listening, however, as the half-blank canvas in the corner next to the TV caught her attention. "Hey, what's up with that?" She pointed, green eyes gleaming.

Sansa sighed.

As soon as the redhead opened her mouth to respond Margaery interrupted her before she had finished the first word of her sentence. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's cool. No pressure. Relax, I won't judge you."

She smiled slightly. "It's not that I don't want to, per se, but-"

She hesitated and watched the brunette out of the corner of her eye, who showed no sign of impatience or boredom. Sansa breathed in deeply and started again. "It's kind of personal. After my father died in an accident a few years back, no one in our family has ever been the same ever again. We all grieved and after we had finally gotten used to it, him being gone like that, we focused on our hobbies and interests as a coping mechanism. At least it was no more than that at first. With time it became more of an urge to live our passion, I suppose."

Margaery nodded, fingers linked together under her chin. "Carpe diem, seize the day, don't waste your life away. Yeah, I know the drill."

The red-haired woman nodded. "My sister Arya used to be told that she would never make it as a fencer, but nowadays she has a shot at competing in the Olympic Games. I can't say that I am anywhere near that successful, but over the last few years I have started to paint. Not professionally at first, of course, I still kept my day job at the office simply because I could hardly conjure up money out of thin air. Still-" She bit down on her lower lip to keep the twitching corner of her mouth from blossoming into a lopsided smile. "I have a website now and a few regulars that pay me decent money for my work. I quit as a secretary seven months ago and built up a tiny studio for myself. I have gotten so close to paying all my debts until, well."

Suddenly the shop assistant was pouring her red wine into a glass and Sansa could not for the life of her remember when she had shown her where she stored her liquor or when it had happened that Margaery had taken off the shoes and was carefully running the fingertips of her left hand over a small portrait of Lady that the redhead had sketched a year ago and that had somehow ended up nailed to the wall next to her calendar.

She accepted the glass and sipped the wine, which was spicy but sweet. Feeling light-headed, it took her a minute before the next words out of the other woman's mouth registered with her brain.

"What do you mean _Maybe I can get my grandmother to have a look at your work_? Are we talking about the same Olenna Tyrell here? She's the Empress of fashion and art in... well, Europe at the very least. No way she would ever be interested in what little I have to offer!"

Margaery's left hand found Sansa's and clasped it. "Don't bring yourself down like that. You have so much genuine talent. I wouldn't offer anything similar if I didn't think that you actually deserved a chance."

The redhead blushed and did her best to cover her embarrassment up with taking another sip of wine. The brunette's grin, however, told her she had not succeeded.

She faltered and failed to come up with an expression strong enough to convey the extent of her gratitude. What ultimately left her mouth was a simple, "Thank you so much. I can't properly explain how much this means to me."

"'s nothing." Margaery mumbled and shrugged, her head slightly bowed so that a curtain of hair obscured her face from Sansa's sight. "It's not like I can guarantee you results."

The shop assisstant's left hand had gone slack and it was Sansa's turn to clasp it with her own to offer her as little confidence as she could. Surprised by her boldness, the red-haired artist found her right hand wandering upwards to tilt the brunette's chin up with her fingertips.

 _"_ Thank you." Sansa whispered, stressing each syllable. Their faces were inches apart and it was then that it occurred to her if she had the wine to thank for her unusually extravagant behavior.

Margaery laughed softly. "Yeah, anytime."

A silence that was not strictly uncomfortable settled over the room.

A beat. Then, one more.

Sansa cleared her throat and felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Um, Margaery?"

She raised an eyebrow, the right corner of her right mouth twitching upwards. "Yes?"

"Is there any chance that I could return the shoes I bought at _Highgarden_ the other day?"

The artist had never been so relieved to see another person nod.

* * *

"Sansa, you made it!"

The woman in question frowned at the familiar sight of the Tyrells' shoe store, the picturesque quality of which suffered from the fact that it was empty, save for the two of them. "I'm sorry I'm late. Where is everyone?"

Margaery threw herself down on the nearest arm chair and linked her hands together behind her head. She was dressed casually compared to the dinner evening, but she still managed to lend a touch of glamour to a draped skirt and fitted blouse. "We're technically closed, actually."

Sansa deposited the box containing the Shoes From Hell on the counter as if the carton had burned her. "Then let's get this over with, I wouldn't want to keep you here because of such a stupid thing."

The brunette stopped her with a wave of her hand. "It's okay. I thought while we were here we could find you a pair of shoes that actually _fit_ you. Thoughts?"

The redhead blinked. "You really don't mind?"

Margaery scoffed. "Do you see me glaring in anger and muttering curses to the sky?"

Sansa grinned involuntarily.

While the shop assistant busied herself behind the counter and counted out the sum her client would be returned in cash, the red-haired woman let her gaze wander along the shelves of shoes she had seen before, even if the memory was faded in contrast to what she had ultimately purchased.

She found herself drawn to a bordeaux pair of pumps and tried on a single one with her operative foot. As shakily as she stood there, crutches in hand, she found the shoe to be a good fit.

Meanwhile, Margaery had joined her and spread her arms wide, indicating the aisles between the shelves. "Here's your catwalk. Go ahead, try it."

Sansa laughed and thought she must look absurd, half-limping through the length of the store, but with the shop assistant's encouraging cries of "Lookin' good!" or "She smiles and the crowd goes wild!" in her ears, she felt lightheaded and full of childish glee. She was certain that Jon must have felt the same way when he took Ygritte's hand and discovered freedom on the road.

By the time the artist returned to the pumps' place of origin, she found the brunette lounging on a couch originally placed there as to allow potential customers to try on shoes.

She couldn't help it. "My pumps match your lipstick."

Margaery burst out laughing and the sound was infectious, even more so when a second glance reaffirmed Sansa's previous observation.

The saleswoman patted the empty space next to her, an invitation the redhead could only accept as it rid her of the necessity of crutches.

She turned her head to look at Margaery, whose slightly parted lips revealed brilliant teeth as she moved her face closer to Sansa's to capture her mouth in a kiss. The artist met her halfway and closed her eyes, silently retracting any negative comments she had made in the past concerning designer shoes.


End file.
